


let it burn

by euphorimkin



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Clay | Dream-centric (Video Blogging RPF), Emotions, Flashbacks, Internal Conflict, King George - Freeform, Remembering the good times, Sort Of, burning motif, george's cottagecore house is ruined, implied pining, knight and king, knight dream, no beta we die like men, theres an implied happy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:42:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27768490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/euphorimkin/pseuds/euphorimkin
Summary: His eyes land on the red poppies that had begun to grow near the river bank.George would love these.
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 198





	let it burn

**Author's Note:**

> i rushed this very quickly after seeing dream's reaction to george's house being burned down in fundy's stream. no i didn't beta it, only drafted it slightly. 
> 
> enjoy smile

Ashes. It all smelt like ashes. Dust particles floated through the dead of night, only visible by the evergrowing fire that littered the land. A log topples over, weakened by the flames and pressure. The grass continues to grow darker with each and every aching minute. 

It’s all burning. 

There are signs with profanities and chants spread out just far enough so it doesn’t catch fire. All against him - all against George. Almost as if the ones who did this were rubbing it into his face. 

It continues to burn.

Dream walks through the heat-burnt grass, avoiding the little flames that continue to spark and alight. He struggles to take it all in. Words tumble on his tongue, but they fail to escape. He wants to scream, wants to say  _ something _ . No one would hear him, though. His composure feigns stability. His knees wobble with each step. 

His throat burns.

Dream approaches the doorway that had already been demolished in the fire. There was no saving it. He equips the water bucket and painstakingly attempts to diminish the flames. With everything on the inside finally cleared, he looks around. Chills go down his spine as he comes to and sees the sight before him. Everything on the inside was destroyed. It was all burnt to bitter ashes.

He walks over to the far northern corner, where he remembers George and his first night hidden away from castle eyes. His armor begins to feel heavier as he recalls the memories. 

  
  
Dream and George had built the compact mushroom hobbit hole in an attempt to have a secret getaway place - far from their kingdom. As a King, George suffered many hours of laborers breathing down his neck, people’s begging, and castle duties. It was suffocating. Dream could see it from miles away. 

He leans down, gripping the dust of what used to be their plush carpet. It trickles down his fingers and fist, leaving behind the bitter memory to be buried deep down inside. Dream’s breath stutters for a minute as he allows himself this moment of weakness. 

He remembers the late nights where Dream and George would sneak away, dressed in commoner garments, laughing to themselves in the dark. They used the carpet as warmth from the cold stone beneath them. It, of course, would have never compared to the warmth they provided each other, proximity close to one another every night. 

  
  
  
  
  


_ “Remember when Sir Wilbur walked into my cabinet as I was attempting to stuff you in my armor?”  _

_ Dream lets out a bark of a laugh, looking at George in disbelief. “What prompted this sudden memory? It’s been years, my lord.” George smiles behind his palm. _

_ “It was when we were still young, when you- you had grown taller than me.” George’s laugh is ridden with the red wine they shared. “You made a bet of 80 shillings that you would still be able to fit in my armor.”  _

_ Dream takes a small sip from his wooden cup. “It was worth the 80 shillings, embarrassing or not.” George slaps his arm with the back of his hand and they erupt into laughter.  _

_ “You scared me as you grew taller and taller.” George’s words began to slur; Dream didn’t know if it was the exhaustion or the alcohol. Maybe both.  _

_ “Thought I’d remind you of one of our castle towers, my liege?”  _

_  
_ _  
_ _ George snorts. He says nothing in response, only choosing to relax his head on Dream’s shoulder. It must’ve been uncomfortable, Dream thought, as he was still wearing his armor plates.  _

_ The air tightens around them. “I don’t like it when you refer to me as royalty. In private, at least.”  _

_  
_ _  
_ _ Dream doesn’t say anything. He can’t. The words are boiling at the top of his throat.  _

_ “... You know I trust you, right?”  _

_  
_ _  
_ _ “Of course, my lord.”  _

_  
_ _  
_ _ “Then call me by my real name.” Dream doesn’t respond.  _

_ George lifts himself up and stares at Dream. His cheeks are tinted red, and his eyebrow is raised upwards in a questioning manner.  _

_ “That’s an order, Dream.” _

_ “... George.” His voice is weak and quiet, cracking slightly at the end. He maintains eye contact for just a little longer before breaking away to take a large swig of the alcohol that has simmered in his cup. He can hear George’s cocky snicker behind him and he feels his face warm.  _

_ “I trust you, Dream. You should know this by now.” _

  
  
  
  


For some reason, Dream felt as though he had betrayed George. He seats himself on the stone cold ground, staring at the ground with his mind numb. His fingers shake. His body moves on autopilot when he reaches for the ash once again, drawing in it with his finger. 

He doesn’t know what he’s drawing, but for some reason it makes sense. It’s muddy and ashy and it’s gross. It hurts. But he continues anyway, drawing the stick figure interpretations. 

  
  
It’s them. Dream knows it’s them, but the still-conscious part of him looks at the ground in disdain and disappointment. His movements continue, drawing the carpet underneath them and the windows and the wall decorations and the flowers and the-

  
  
He stops. Dream doesn’t even notice the tears that begin to pool at the corner of his eyes, dripping down into the ash and destroying parts of his creative art piece. He grips the dust in his fist, further destroying the memory underneath him. His eyes burn with tears; as much as he tries to fight it back, he can’t stop the excruciating pain that erupts in him. 

He doesn’t want to cry. 

He can’t cry. 

  
  


He cries. 

But only for a moment. Dream takes deep, shaky breaths before standing up and walking away from the corner. He wills down the burn in his throat. Walking to the wooden table, now filled with holes that show signs of withered bark. He takes a seat in the metal chair and lets his head rest in his hands. His thoughts are cluttered, speaking to him in ten different languages and at twenty different speeds. 

Dream looks up and stares at the ceramic vase, now disformed from the compression and the heat. The pattern mocks him, swirling in a chaotic manner akin to his own pondering. 

A smile somehow finds its way onto his face.

  
  
  
  
  


_ “My lord, look! I’ve brought us a gift!” _

_ George spins around from the kitchen counter, looking at Dream with a curious gaze. In Dream’s hands lies a small vase, swirling with flowers and vines gently along the surface. George laughs at him.  _

_ “And where do you intend on placing it, exactly?”  _

_ Dream looks around, conceptualizing the area around them. He animatedly perks up when an idea hits him. He places the vase down on the table and runs outside, looking around quickly. He needs to decorate the vase with flowers. Something that would impress George. _

_ His eyes land on the red poppies that had begun to grow near the river bank. _

_ George would love these. _

_ Gently yanking the flowers from their roots, he acquires a handful of the soft blossoms. He walks back inside the house and places the flowers in the vase and settles the vase officially in the middle of their kitchen table.  _

_ Dream looks to George with a grin, extending a hand towards the flowers to showcase them.  _

_ “What do you think?”  _

_ “They are very lovely, Dream.” George laughs and settles their plates of food on the table, opposite one another.  _

_ They seat themselves in their respective seats and erupt into laughter after realizing what was different. The vase and flowers completely blocked the view from each other, forcing the both of them to lean around it to see each other’s faces.  _

_ “Clearly I-” Dream’s laugh stutters his speech. “Clearly I didn’t think about the consequences of placing a decorative vase between us.” George’s laugh fills the room with joy, and Dream can’t help smiling at his King.  _

_ George stands up with his plate and walks around to take the seat adjacent to Dream.  _

_ “W-Wait, my lord, let me-” _

_  
_ _  
_ _ “Shut up, Dream. Sit down.” George places a hand on his shoulder and sits him down gently. Dream complies unwillingly. _

_ “You shouldn’t have to accommodate for me, my l-” _

_  
_ _  
_ _ “George.” His voice is stern. _

_  
_ _  
_ _ “... G-George. I could’ve sat down next to you instead.” George waves his hand in the air as if to dismiss the idea. _

_ “Nonsense, it’s brighter in this corner anyway.” He bites into the slightly burnt potatoes and rests his chin on the back of hand. “Besides,” he waves his fork at Dream, “I gotta do something for you too, sometimes.”  _

_ Dream takes a slow bite of the steak. At least George knew how to cook meat. “You already made dinner, that’s doing something for me, technically.”  _

_ “Well, it’s for us.” George shines a smile at him before going back to eating his food.  _

_ “For us.” Dream mimics. _

  
  
  
  
  


“For us…”

It was for them. For them, now gone. Dream picks up the deformed vase in his hands as he stands and rubs away the dust with his thumb. The white subtly shines through the dirt and burns. White had always been one of Dream’s favourite colours, next to green. It always reminded him of innocence, of childlike joy, and of simplicity in the finer things.

It reminded him of George. 

He settles down the vase and rubs his face in an attempt to ground himself. Reality settles in at the same time.

The place he once called home, once thought was the safest place in the kingdom, was gone. What was once for them was gone. 

The place where he and George could feel most like themselves. The place where he and George could trust each other the most. The place where he and George could escape from reality and only have each other’s interests in mind.

It had burned. It was all burnt. It was all burning. Time felt unreal where he stood. 

Dream spun around and faced the cracked mirror behind him. He stares long and hard at himself, taking in the details through the shattered view. The scar across his nose, the stubble that grows at an annoyingly slow pace, the freckles that littered his face.

George always commented on those features.

  
  
  
  
  


_ “The scar suits you. Stop picking at it.” Dream’s finger lifts away from his face and he stares at George, ripping his fixation on himself in the mirror away.  _

_ “I’m not picking at it. It just itches.” _

_  
_ _  
_ _ “It’s a new scar,” George lifts the box full of metal silverware and hides it in the closet. “It’ll feel like it’s burning for a little while. You should’ve been more careful.” _

_  
_ _  
_ _ “I needed to protect you, my lor-” George glares at him. “... I needed to protect you, George. You can’t blame me for getting hurt.”  _

_ George approaches Dream and places a hand on his cheek. He freezes in his spot. Dream wasn’t used to this sober proximity between them. George’s thumb glosses over the scar gently. The touch burns more than the scar. _

_ “Relax. It’s just me.” Dream nods too quickly for his own liking and George chuckles. He remains silent for a moment, almost as if contemplating whether he wants to speak. George eventually speaks. “... Call me George again.” _

_  
_ _  
_ _ “What do you want me to say..?” _

_  
_ _  
_ _ “Anything. Literally anything. Ask me about my day or something.” _

_  
_ _  
_ _ Dream falls flat on his words. “Uhm- h-how’s… how’s the weather, George?” George laughs into Dream’s chest and his hand on Dream’s cheek falls to his shoulder.  _

_ “You idiot. I didn’t mean literally anything.”  _

_ “Should’ve been more specific, George.” _

_ “That’s better.” He pats Dream’s cheek gently and stalks away to the other room, presumably to continue cleaning out their room.  _

_ Dream tries to call out to him, to reach out to him, to do anything.  _

  
  
  
  
  


He stares in the mirror. He was still the same. Everything that George saw in him, it was staring right back at him. Dream picks away at the glass pieces meticulously, watching it all crumble. Watching himself crumble. His fingers sting and burn from the cuts, but he ignores it. 

He tries to speak. “... G- … George…” 

He feels pathetic. Weak. 

The person that he thought he would make proud stared back at him through the cracks. He feels guilty, as if he was the cause of this. He promised George they would be safe, that the house would be safe. 

The stench of burnt mushrooms filled the air and reminded him of his failure. 

Dream can’t stand the suffocation of the house anymore. He escapes outside and tries not to look back, but the temptations and bitterness overwhelms him. He takes one look behind him.

For a split second, he almost sees the house that once was. The house that was never destroyed, never found, never touched. 

But he knows it’s all gone. 

He needs to go back to the kingdom. Needs to tell George of the news. 

As Dream leaves, he crosses the river and grimaces at his feet soaking in the water. He looks down at his feet, only to notice the peculiar buds arising from the bank. Red poppies, still fresh and alive, sway gently in the wind. 

  
  
He reaches down and pulls them from their roots, collecting a handful with his dusty hands.

George would love these.

  
  



End file.
